Chapter 8: The One They Tried to Kill

~Omniscient POV

The steady rhythm of hooves beat against the earth like a slow, pulsing drum. Dust curled into the wind with every step, stirred by two horses making their way through a winding path between the hollow hills. One horse led the way—an obsidian mare with strength in her gait, a second horse trailing behind, quiet and loyal.

Eira stirred.

Her body swayed slightly with every bump on the road, her head resting lightly against something warm—firm, steady.

She groaned, blinking slowly as light stabbed through her eyelids. Her muscles ached. Her wrists throbbed with fading burns. She felt movement. Wind. Open air.

And then she realized—she wasn’t walking. She was riding.

Her eyes opened fully.

She was slumped against Caelum’s chest, his arms loosely around her, one hand holding the reins, the other gripping the saddle. She was seated in front of him, her legs draped over the saddle horn. The second horse, hers, trotted faithfully beside them.

Eira slowly sat up and yawned, brushing tangled red hair from her face.

“What happened?” she asked, voice cracked with sleep and dust.

Caelum didn’t answer.

He just looked straight ahead, his jaw clenched, the wind tugging his hair. His silence stretched between them.

Then… the memories surged.

The executioner’s axe. Her rising into the air. The screams. The flames. The smell of blood and burning flesh. Elves on their knees. Pleading. Crying. Begging. And her—floating above them like death incarnate.

She gasped and buried her face in her palms.

“No. No, no, no…” Her shoulders shook. Her breath hitched. “I killed them. All of them.”

Tears bled from the corners of her eyes, falling into her hands as her sobs grew louder.

“Caelum,” she choked, “why didn’t you stop me? You’re strong. You could’ve—”

“You’re stronger, Eira,” he said gently. “But it’s alright. They deserved it. They were going to kill us.”

“It still doesn’t justify what I did. I killed a whole village of elves. What am I?” Eira asked, sobbing. “I don’t think I’m a werewolf. I’m a monster.”

“That’s not true, Eira.” Caelum said. “You’re Eira. The same Eira that I knew ten years ago. You’re the same Eira. There might have been a few changes but you’re still you. You’re not a monster and besides they attacked us first. If you didn’t do what you did, we wouldn’t be alive right now.”

She shook her head violently. “It doesn’t matter. They did it because they were scared of us. They thought we’d turn on them—and I did.” Her voice broke like glass. “I proved them right. They were wrong about us—until I made them right.”

The tears wouldn’t stop.

Caelum didn’t speak. He just pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her again, pressing her head to his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath her ear, a quiet lullaby to silence the screams in her head.

He stroked her hair, slow and calming, the way he used to when they were children and she couldn’t sleep after a nightmare.

Only this time, she was the nightmare.

After a few minutes, her sobs quieted. She breathed against him in ragged gasps, hands still trembling in her lap.

Then Caelum shifted.

He gently lifted her face by the chin, placing his hands on either side of her cheeks. His thumbs brushed away her tears—first one, then the other—his fingers cradling her face like something sacred.

Their eyes met.

So close. Their breaths mingled.

He searched her face with a look she couldn’t quite name—part sorrow, part wonder, part fear, and something deeper.

For a moment, the world shrank to just them. No wolves. No burned village behind them. Only this.

Eira leaned in.

And Caelum kissed her.

It was slow. Warm. Desperate in the way that said I’m still here even after everything. His lips pressed to hers like a vow made in silence.

Far behind them, smoke still curled from the bones of the elven village. The fires had dimmed to embers, but the scent of ash and scorched flesh clung to the air like a funeral dirge.

Three figures on horseback crested the ridge above the ruins.

They were masked, cloaked in charcoal black, riding in eerie silence. Their horses picked carefully through the wreckage—where once there were huts, now only charred skeletons of wood remained. Blackened timbers jutted from the earth like snapped ribs. The well had collapsed in on itself, and puddles of blood turned brown and stiff under the heat.

A child’s toy lay half-melted in the dirt.

One of the riders dismounted first—the tallest, with a curved sword strapped to his back and a golden insignia stitched into the hem of his cloak. He walked his horse forward slowly, eyes scanning the corpses.

The second—shorter, broader, with a spear across his back—whistled low. “I haven’t seen destruction this much since the time of the Ravaging.”

The third—slender, sharp-featured behind his mask—shook his head. “Even the Ravaging wasn’t this catastrophic.”

As they reached the square, the tallest dismounted and moved toward the execution block. The board was still slick with blood, but something else caught his attention—a single, curled strand of hair, glinting like fire under the ash.

He picked it up.

Brought it to his nose.

And the moment he inhaled—the moment that scent touched him—his entire body pulsed with energy.

His head snapped back. His eyes rolled white—then flared with glowing blue.

He gasped and stumbled, dropping to one knee.

The other two were instantly beside him.

“What happened?” the slender one asked.

The tall one blinked, chest rising and falling in ragged gulps. “Someone… very powerful was here.”

He stood slowly, his eyes wide with revelation.

“Someone with the power to end life as we know it.”

The short one stepped back. “Gods. What do we do now?”

The tall one clenched his fist, eyes still burning faintly.

“We do what we do best.” His voice was steel. “We find the source of this power—before it consumes more than just a village.”

He turned to the others.

“My brothers,” he said, as the wind swept ash through the air.

“The hunt has begun.”